In Rainbows
by rowan-greenleaf
Summary: In which Snape is a greasy-haired git with zero patience and Ginny Weasley can't catch a break. Winner of 'Most Fangirly' and 'Best Fluff' in The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Winter 2015.
1. Raindrop

**Author's Note:** I wrote this story for Sarah (imadoodlenoodle) in **The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Winter 2015** but never got around to publishing under my own account until now. This won _Most Fangirly_ and _Best Fluff Scene_. Reviews are welcome!

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 **In Rainbows**

 **Chapter One: "Raindrop" or "15 Step"**

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 _You used to be alright, what happened?_

 _Did the cat get your tongue?_

 _Did the string come undone?_

15 Step - Radiohead

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It's five minutes to nine on a gray and gloomy Saturday morning. I walk despondently along the corridor, my eyes fixed on my well worn shoes, eyebrows furrowed into a preoccupied frown. With nimble fingers I quickly gather my hair into a messy plait, tossing it carelessly over my shoulder.

I ate too much at breakfast, uncertain of whether or not I will be permitted lunch later, and just now am seriously regretting that decision. My stomach too, seems to rumble as if in protest.

 _"Uhhhh._ Can this day get any worse?" I demand of no one in particular; everyone else is still enjoying their leisurely weekend breakfast. My scowl deepens.

When at last I reach my destination, I hesitate only for a moment. This is unfair (and damn Zacharias Smith to hell and back for it), and it's stupid, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect—but there is no point in being a baby about it.

 _There's a first time for everything, Weasley._

Taking a deep breath, I place my hand on the cold brass of the door handle and twist.

I open the door to the room cautiously, only to find Draco Malfoy—of all people—standing there, palms spread against the walls, almost as if feeling for something.

 _Of course,_ because anything less would have made the day salvageable.

He has his wand tucked into the back pocket of his well fitting trousers, and the sleeves of his oxford shirt are rolled up to the elbows. The tips of his whitish blond hair come down to just below the collar of his shirt. He's taller than I'd realized.

The Slytherin looks up at me as I walk into the room, and my eyes collide with clear gray ones. I immediately try to look away, but my eyes seem glued to his. He holds my gaze for a moment longer, and his face remains expressionless as he seems to scrutinize every detail of my appearance.

I am surprised to feel the hint of a blush heating my cheeks; he's looking at me quite intently, almost as if he were trying to guess my weight. Fortunately he seems to have lost interest, for just as suddenly he turns back to his task without uttering a single word. Well, then.

Still shaken up by the surprisingly intense stare off just now, I look around the room and make note of a writing board, several rows of desks, and two largely empty bookshelves. Broad windows let in a pale, depressing light; it's cloudy outside, and the flicker of distant lightning can be seen in the horizon. So this is the Detention Chamber.

A few books and a school bag are resting on a desk in the back, presumably belonging to the room's only other occupant. I am uncomfortable with the idea of sitting with my back to any Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy. I also want to avoid sitting too close to him, having gotten the hint that my presence is of no interest to him. I opt for sitting level with Malfoy's desk, but on the opposite end of the room, by the windows.

My chair makes a scraping sound as I draw it and plop down, and I check a wince. Malfoy remains absorbed in his task, running his hands over the wood panels that line the walls.

I'm unsure of what to expect out of today, and I'm pretty sure the blond has been around the block when it comes to detention. Part of me wishes I could ask what's going to happen—and to be honest, I'm also curious about what he's doing. The silence in the room feels dense, almost weighty.

Malfoy and I have exchanged glances on the pitch now and then, but we've never talked and I'll be damned if I speak to him first. Even after everything, I've witnessed girls—yes, even Gryffindor ones—falling over themselves to catch the Slytherin's attentions, and I'm anxious to make clear that I'm in no way part of his fan club.

The clock on the wall strikes nine o'clock. Draco Malfoy turns on his heel and walks over to his desk, drawing his chair noiselessly and sinking into it with an almost absentminded grace. He sits with his arms folded, staring straight ahead—the picture of a model student.

A second later the door to the room bursts open, and Professor McGonagall sweeps inside in a rustle of skirts, casting both of us a stern glance.

"Wands," she demands curtly by way of greeting. It's Saturday, and she is dressed in exactly the same way as every other day of the week.

I stand, making my chair scrape again, and walk up to the teacher's desk. I see the Slytherin out of the corner of my eye and try to time my steps, but somehow end up standing before McGonagall in the same instant as Malfoy. We give each other sidelong glances and I'm weirdly reminded of a couple waiting to take their wedding vows.

As if.

I hesitate but Malfoy gives me a short, no doubt mocking bow, indicating that I should go first.

I snort, earning myself a warning glance from my Head of House.

"Return to your seats," the Transfiguration mistress commands once she has procured our wands. "You are not to leave this room without permission, and you are not permitted visitors."

McGonagall hands us each a piece of parchment, along with an ink pot and quill.

"Mr. Malfoy, six inches on the importance of decorum. Ms. Weasley, you're to write six inches on the importance of proper sportsmanship. Once you've completed your essays, you would be well served to attend to your unfinished class assignments."

And with that, she's gone as suddenly as she appeared, shutting the door in her wake.

An involuntary sigh escapes my lips. I try to get started on the dumb essay, but somehow end up discussing all the reasons why Zacharias Smith is a worthless tool with a face like a constipated bat, who incidentally should have been sorted into Slytherin, and who definitely deserved to be hexed. I think it's well written as far as essays go, but I suspect Minerva McGonagall would be less appreciative.

This is going to be a long-ass day. And if part of me thought Malfoy would deign to acknowledge me now, I have another thing coming; the Slytherin continues to ignore me as he rises and saunters back to the wall once more, spreading his palms against the wall and feeling around as before. It strikes me then that his forearms are kind of beautiful, pale with golden little hairs that remind me of peach fuzz. He has his back to me, and my eyes are sliding down the length of his frame of their own accord.

OK, so the boy is fit. Broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips, a tight looking boy booty, and strong calves. I'm not particularly into bums—I'm more into eyes and smiles, like any other good girl who hasn't yet been properly snogged, I suppose—but for some reason my gaze seems to be magnetically drawn to Draco Malfoy's perfectly shaped buttocks, to the point that when he turns and looks directly at me I still haven't torn my eyes away.

Following the line of my gaze, he raises his eyebrows in obvious surprise, and I quickly direct my attention to my parchment, refusing to look up until the burning in the sides of my face has completely subsided. He's turned away by then, sparing me further humiliation.

 _Gods._

Time passes slowly. I can feel Malfoy more than see him; as indifferent as he seems to be to my presence, I am painfully aware of his. I debate shooting a quick glance at him, but decide against it after what transpired earlier. Again I wonder what he was doing with the wall; after feeling around for a bit longer he seemed to give up and went back to his seat again. He's been sitting there without saying a word. What was he looking for?

I turn to the window, watching the first thick drops of rain splatter against the glass, and the gold and brown leaves of the trees swaying gently in the wind.

At noon the door to our prison is opened, and a stone faced Professor McGonagall announces that we may eat.

"You have thirty minutes to take your lunch," she informs us coldly. "You may do so in the Great Hall, but be mindful of the time lest you earn yourselves another detention."

Malfoy gets up and leaves the room. After a few minutes, I follow.

I'm still full from my over-the-top breakfast, and more importantly, I don't feel like facing up to my brother and his courageous friends, nor do I look forward to hearing mindless chatter from the girls in my own year in the precious twenty-five minutes I have left. I opt for sneaking a shiny red apple from the Gryffindor table and scurrying out to the Owlery to visit my brother's owl, Pig. It's raining in earnest by now, and by the time I return to the Detention Chamber I'm soaking wet.

Malfoy is already there, and he glances at the way my wet top clings to my chest area with interest. I cross my arms and curse myself for going out in the rain without a wand. I hope he doesn't mistake this for some sort of elaborate seduction on my part. He's still looking at me, and I fight with every last bit of my being not to color under his gaze after that butt-staring incident.

 _Get a grip, girlfriend,_ I berate myself. So he caught me checking him out. So what?

In any case, Malfoy's still not talking. I can feel his gaze on me every now and then, which is a change, but he still won't say a word. The silence is unnatural, and I'm annoyed by it.

I turn to glare at him, and he gazes back serenely. I see a pale eyebrow lift a fraction of an inch, but otherwise he seems unperturbed, and he still won't speak.

I'm not sure I mentioned how annoying Malfoy's face is. It's all...chiseled. He looks like the rich villain type in a teen high school drama. His entire face with all its symmetry is one big cliche, and all he's missing is the hair gel and cleft chin.

 _Git._

Those last four hours seem to drag on forever. I succeed in completing my ridiculous essay, and as I finish measuring the last inch of text I promise myself that Zacharias Smith will pay for this somehow, and that I will never serve detention again. Perhaps those statements are mutually exclusive, but by Merlin I will find a way to make it work.

At last Professor McGonagall returns to collect our essays, and to give a little speech on the expectations Hogwarts places on each of its students.

True to form, Malfoy leaves without a word but I could have sworn that he gave me a quick glance before walking out.

"I expect more from you, Ms. Weasley," Professor McGonagall comments as I pass by.

Well great.

 **OOO**

The moon is pale and round, floating heavily amongst the dark clouds in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. The rain has dwindled to a fine mist. I sit at the Gryffindor table, wolfing down a plate of bangers and mash. That little apple really didn't do much in the way of lunch, and I'd been practically starving as I sat to dinner.

When I look up from my food I notice Michael Corner gazing at me fixedly from the Ravenclaw table. I give a half-hearted little wave, but he pretends not to notice. I scowl and drop my hand. So glad we're being mature. Pssh.

"Hello? Earth to Ginny," my brother Ron is saying beside me, and he gives me a nudge right in between the ribs with his elbow.

" _Ow!_ What is it?" I snap.

"I asked how it went," my brother replies, spearing through a piece of carrot with his fork. "Today? Detention?"

My eyes instinctively seek Malfoy, but he is nowhere to be found at the Slytherin table. "It was fine. We wrote an essay."

"An essay's not half bad," Ron muses, "I had to clean bedpans last time. Pass the mash?"

What a lovely visual. I pause mid-bite and shoot my brother a disgusted look. It's lost on him - his blue eyes have latched onto the approaching form of Hermione Granger, his expression unmistakably abashed.

"You missed a good practice, Ginny," Harry offers, plopping down on the other side of my brother, and perhaps I'm only imagining the note of reproof in his voice.

 _So sorry, but I really, really wanted to have detention for eight hours instead of going to Quidditch practice._

I open my mouth to reply with something slightly less sarcastic, but Harry's attention is already on his own plate of mash.

Hermione chooses to sit directly across from Ron at the table, but is not really looking at him, I notice. "What about the Snape essay you were worried about, Ginny?" she inquires, reaching for a salad bowl. "Did you get to finish it?"

"Gah! I forgot all about that stupid essay!" I cry, my slight interest in the weird dynamic between Ron and Hermione instantly forgotten. "I was so distracted with ignoring Malfoy that I totally—"

 _"—Malfoy?"_ both Harry and Ron demand, with the same note of incredulity.

Hermione and I both turn to look at them.

 _"Malfoy!"_ gushes Susan Thomas, a fellow fifth year sitting across from me. "He's _so hot!_ You're so lucky you got detention with him for the whole day!"

I stare at her in bafflement, but she goes on, oblivious.

"He's probably there because of that party at the start of term."

"Yeah, the orgy thing," chimes in Sam Johnson, another fifth year. "He's got detention for the rest of term, but he's lucky he didn't get expelled."

Wait— _what?_

"What orgy thing?" I demand, before instinctively deciding to check my display of interest.

I guess I've been living under a rock this entire time, because this is the first I hear of orgies. I try to reconcile the boy I saw during detention earlier with my idea of orgies—for whatever reason I feel they involve forest clearings, animal masks and a bonfire.

"I heard it was more of a gangbang," Susan is whispering.

"I wouldn't put it past him to be so disgusting," Ron mutters, stuffing his mouth with a bread roll. "The amazing frog-puking ferret."

I turn to look at my brother—I mean, seriously, that's weird, even for him. "Well that was oddly specific…" I comment.

"He literally puked frogs in the corridor before lunch today," Susan offers beside me. "Every time he opened his mouth, frogs would come out. He had to go to the infirmary."

I shake my head, holding up a hand. "You know, what? I don't wanna know. I don't want to know about frogs, puking, orgies, or... or anything else Malfoy related."

"I concur," Hermione says primly, with a dash of prefect gravitas. "There's no use in repeating mindless Slytherin gossip without much credibility."

"But Pansy Parkinson said—" Susan tries again.

"—Exactly," Hermione chides, in a manner that seems to convey the topic is closed.

It really is, as far as I'm concerned. The entire thing is ridiculous.

The novelty of my first detention having worn off, the Golden Trio leave me to eat the rest of my meal in relative silence. I glance at Malfoy's table thoughtfully, but the enigmatic Slytherin is nowhere to be found.

Whatever. It's not like I'm planning on sharing the Detention Chamber with him again anytime soon.

 **OOO**

Wednesday morning, Snape's dungeon. I'm walking into Potions as Ron's year is walking out. My brother and I exchange raised eyebrows and a moment later I'm walking into the toned chest of one tall platinum blond.

Our eyes connect like magnets and I feel a surge of nervous energy rise from my feet and creep up to my face. I hope that I'm not blushing, but I know that I am. Gods, he smells great.

"Watch where you're going, Weasley," sneers Pansy Parkinson from beside Malfoy, tugging him away by the arm. His eyes never leave mine, and he curls his lips into a smirk as he lets her drag him away.

I turn to look after him in spite of my best efforts, and then proceed to take my seat in Snape's classroom. The hour goes by slowly, and I can't get the blond out of my head.

What was that about, anyway? He ignored me during eight hours of being alone in a room together, and then he gives me little looks in the corridor. What a strange boy. Gangbangs my arse.

"Weasley," Snape enunciates, and I look up to find him looming over my shoulder, dark eyes dangerously narrowed. His black hair looks so slick it's almost shiny. "Forgive me for interrupting your fascinating musings, but there are things more important than even lipstick and forehead scars."

 _Like shampoo?_ I think darkly, my lip curling in derision before I can help it.

Snape glares down at me, almost as if he can read my thoughts. But he can't.

Can he?

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he drawls softly. "And detention this evening, I think."

 _Detention?_

"But-but-but!" I can barely get words out, my mouth has gone dry, as if it were full of cotton balls.

"Professor! We have Quidditch practice tonight and I already—"

"Detention this evening, and detention on Saturday," Snape says patiently, and more than anything I hate the smugness splattered across his sallow face. "Is there anything else you would care to add?"

I shut my mouth and cross my arms, my face burning with fury and shame. I can hear the clock hands move; even the Slytherins are silent.

"Let us continue." Snape finally creeps away, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his dark robes. "Page sixty-nine in your textbooks."

I'm feeling so demoralized that I don't even think to snort at Snape's unintentionally silky mention of the number sixty-nine.

 **OOO**

The corridor is dark and silent save for the soft echo of our footsteps as we approach the Detention Chamber.

"You may use the remainder of your time here to complete your coursework," Snape condescends, giving me a brief glare as he holds my wand out to me. He had confiscated it while I was working in the lab earlier tonight, to ensure all the brain pickling was done manually. Bastard.

"Filch's office is just down the corridor," he continues. "Don't even dream of undertaking any absurd Gryffindor shenanigans."

An eye roll would be baiting him for more detention—and more lovely toad brain pickling in the laboratory. I hold my own, but I'm simmering with anger as I walk into the now familiar room.

Draco Malfoy is there, I note out of the corner of my eye as I stomp to a seat level with his. I notice there's a cloak draped on another desk. Is there someone else serving detention tonight?

Snape offers me no parting shots for once, instead directing his attention to the room's other occupant.

"Draco. Where is Theodore Nott?"

Malfoy replies with a glance around the room, an elegant shrug. "I'm afraid I don't know, Professor," he says in a surprisingly deep voice.

I realize then that I've been hearing more about Malfoy during the past years than I've seen for myself. He really isn't rat-faced anymore, and his voice is no longer squeaky or whiny as it was when he was twelve. Time hasn't passed in vain, and I can't pretend to not know why my friends find him attractive. Except that he's a tool.

Snape glares at Malfoy. "Kindly inform Mr. Nott that he can join you and Weasley for detention on Saturday." With that he exits, shutting the door behind him.

Part of me is intrigued by the fact that Malfoy really does have detention every Saturday, making the gangbang scenario plausible. But honestly, right now I couldn't care less. Snape has reminded me of my continued predicament, and I feel as if the finger of injustice were bearing down on me.

I've done nothing wrong, yet here I am in detention with the most debauched representative Slytherin has to offer. How is this fair?

Malfoy directs his attention back to the parchment on his desk, and I look away, crossing my arms. I'm expecting more of his weird silence, but to my surprise he actually speaks.

"So what does a good little Gryffindor do to earn herself detention twice in one week?" he inquires, not bothering to look up from his parchment.

I frown, but hold my tongue. Does he really think I'll speak on command just because he feels like it?

"What's the matter, Girl Weasley?" he drawls. "Cat got your tongue?"

I turn to glare at him, further irked by the smug little smirk on his conceited face. He's writing something, and hasn't bothered to return my look.

"You're speaking to me why?" I fire back.

Damn, there goes my silent treatment. Sneaky ferret.

"For my own amusement," he replies, pausing to dip his quill in ink. When he looks up, he is met by a decisive flick of my middle finger.

"Oh." Pale eyebrows are slightly raised. "Obscene finger gestures from such a pristine girl."

I'm not _that_ pristine, I think, recalling my recent heavy petting broom closet sessions with Michael Corner. But then I guess that to a gangbanger, a girl who hasn't even shagged is exactly that: pristine.

With this in mind, I opt for a more simple riposte. "Bite me, Malfoy."

"Only if you say please," he returns silkily, and this time his eyes meet mine.

I glower at him, and it irks me to no end that he's as handsome as he obviously believes himself to be. "Don't be gross," I manage.

Draco Malfoy laughs, fixing me with those metallic gray eyes that I seem to have a hard time meeting. "Don't be a hypocrite."

Burn, baby, burn.

I realize that my mouth is hanging open, and promptly snap it shut.

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 **Author's Note:**

1\. There will be quotes from the Muggle film The Breakfast Club sprinkled here and there. Can you spot them all?

2\. To my beta and RL bestie P: You had the patience of a saint with my last minute first-tense-switcharoo. Thanks so much!

3\. This is a blanket disclaimer for this and all subsequent chapters: Harry Potter, Radiohead lyrics, and quotes from The Breakfast Club belong to their respective owners (J.K. Rowling, Radiohead, John Hughes and anyone else).

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 **Sarah's Prompt (2)**

Basic premise: Ginny keeps getting detention every week for various different reasons (go crazy), Draco's done something that's landed him in detention for the rest of the semester.

Must haves: Appearances from other detention-ers, thaw in relations, some humour.

No-no's: None.

Rating range: Any.

Bonus points: Quotes from The Breakfast Club!, if most of the story is set in the detention room, and indignant!Ginny.


	2. Prism

**In Rainbows**

 **Chapter Two: "Prism" or "Weird Fishes"**

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 _In the deepest ocean, the bottom of the sea_

 _your eyes, they turn me_

 _I'd be crazy not to follow, follow where you lead_

 _your eyes, they turn me_

Weird Fishes - Radiohead

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I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually glad that I'm alone with Malfoy right now, because the only thing that could make this situation more mortifying is having witnesses. Curse me and my newfound weakness for shapely male buttocks—if he hadn't caught me looking, I wouldn't be in this mess.

He's smirking this knowing little smirk, and I'm having trouble tearing my eyes away from his—there are flecks of blue in the silvery gray, and I don't think I'd noticed that before.

It is Malfoy who looks away, slowly dipping his quill in ink. "It's OK to admit that you have good taste, Weasley," he says softly, with a quick flash of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

"I admit to nothing." I'm praying to all the gods that can hear that my Weasley blush won't betray me now. "And since when are you such a Chatty Cathy? We were in a room for eight hours and you didn't say a word," I remind him, grasping at anything that will distract from whatever it is that just happened between us.

Malfoy eats it up, apparently taking exception to my use of old fashioned idioms. _"What_ did you just call me?" He turns around all the way in his chair so he can look at me properly. " _Chatty Cathy?_ Are you someone's granny trapped in the body of a fourteen year old?"

"I turned fifteen in August," I inform him.

"How amazing for you," he says flatly, and I make a face.

The corners of Malfoy's mouth quiver as if he might smile again.

"Look," he says suddenly, "I couldn't have spoken to you even if I'd wanted to that day." After a moment he adds, "I lost a bet with Theo Nott, and I couldn't open my mouth without—"

"—Ha! The amazing frog-puking ferret!" I declare, finally getting my brother's strange barb at dinner.

Malfoy blinks. "That was actually...kind of mean." Instead of annoyed, he actually looks amused.

"What was the bet?" I inquire, genuinely curious. I'm also baffled by how civilly we're conversing. This is almost surreal.

"Hmm? Oh, the outcome of some practice duel." He's back to writing in his parchment, but I can tell he's listening. "Why did you get detention that day?"

I hesitate, but ultimately decide to tell the truth. "I jinxed Zacharias Smith during a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff."

"Did he tell on you?"

"He didn't have to," I say morosely. "McGonagall was right there and saw it all."

"Wait... you attacked another student—a prefect at that— _in front of McGonagall?"_

"Well yeah, but I didn't plan it that way," I snap defensively. "Obviously."

"Let me guess," the blond says, dipping his quill in ink once more, "you lost your temper and exploded into an embarrassing display of Gryffindor sentimentality?"

"He tried to knock me off my broom!" I practically yell.

"What, during Quidditch? The scandal of it all."

"I could have been killed! And it's so wrong coming from him—you don't expect shit like that from a Hufflepuff. Your guard is down. When we play you lot, we're on our toes... It's just different."

Malfoy pauses again. "Hmm. I guess I can see what you mean."

I would never admit this to anyone, but I feel a certain satisfaction at being validated by the Slytherin.

"So what about today?" he wants to know, turning to look at me this time. "Who did you attack?"

"Nobody." I scowl. "Snape hates me. He said I looked distracted and gave me two detentions. He made me pickle toad brain."

Malfoy pouts in mock sympathy.

"Anyway, why do you care?" I sniff. "Are you writing an investigative report? I didn't know you were so nosy."

There's still a look of vague amusement on his face. Damn that puking gangbanger ferret—no matter what I say, he seems completely unfazed.

"Information is always useful, Weasley," he says pleasantly, and then he looks directly at me. "Even if it pertains to boring little Gryffindor girls like you."

For some reason, this is what really bugs me out of all that he's said and done. Maybe because I've been answering all of his questions rather candidly, and was kind of enjoying our little chat. And now I feel...played.

"Death Eater is not really a viable career choice anymore," I begin snidely, "so your deviousness is…" I trail off, my gaze caught in his. Malfoy's facial expression hasn't really changed, but there's something almost chilling about his eyes, and his features look suddenly hard as stone.

This is it. I've drawn blood, but somehow it doesn't feel nearly as satisfying as I thought it would.

Certain facts that have remained unpondered surface somewhere in my mind. I can't say I didn't expect my remark about Death Eaters to upset him—the truth is that I really am mean when I'm angry, and often say things I will later come to regret. It's equally true that I didn't realize the full effect my words would have on the Slytherin.

"That was a stupid thing to say," I amend quickly. His eyes are scanning my face carefully, and I feel a flush creep up my neck.

Just then the door to the room bursts open, and we both turn to see the elegantly lanky form of Theodore Nott framed by the orange lights of the corridor lamps.

I feel a potent relief wash through me. Superficial though our interactions in the library may have been, Theo and I have always been civil which each other, and he once picked up my book when it fell out of my bag. From what I've seen, he's not openly malicious, like Pansy Parkinson, or insufferably arrogant, like Malfoy and Zabini are known to be. Of all the supposedly intellectual Slytherins, Theo reminds me of a Ravenclaw the most. Perhaps he really is evil, but he seems too self-complacent to bother being conniving. He's also rather dashing, truth be told.

It may be my imagination, but the weird mood in the room seems to have lifted with Theo's entrance. He now looks from me to Malfoy. To my surprise, and tiny bit of dismay, he completely ignores me and my idiotic smile.

"Did you tell Snape I went to the infirmary?" he questions Malfoy.

"Of course not. Then I would have to tell him I hexed you," the blond Slytherin replies matter-of-factly. "By the way, you're joining us for detention on Saturday."

"Bloody great," Theo mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thanks for that."

I turn to look at Malfoy. It's bizarre to hear him lump me with him into the word _us_. Especially after what just transpired. He returns my gaze, and I force myself to not look away from his stormy gray eyes. Has my heart been racing all this time, or did it happen just now?

"Whoa, do you guys need a moment? I can wait outside," Theo offers, looking from me to Malfoy.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nott." I've replied perhaps too quickly.

"What were the two of you doing?" he presses.

"Getting acquainted," Malfoy says, his tone neutral.

"Well I want to be acquainted as well." Theo's green eyes are looking me up and down in a way that is loaded with insinuations.

Dashing or not I find him repugnant, and will now revise my previous statement regarding his character. I guess all Slytherins really are snakes after all. In other news, water is wet.

 _I'm done with these clowns,_ I decide.

Without acknowledging Theo's statement, I've turned to my bag and have taken out my parchment and writing utensils. I really do need to work on assignments, as Snape suggested.

It occurs to me then that he gave me my wand back because he thought I might have cause to use it. The knowledge that it is safely tucked under my sleeve is more comforting than usual.

"Oh come on, Little Weasley," Theo says, sitting beside me, between myself and Malfoy. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Who says that I'm afraid?" I demand. Suddenly I'm furious—at him, or at myself, I'm not really sure, but my hands have balled themselves into fists all the same. "Do you think you're the only one who knows good hexes here, Nott?"

"No, we've all heard about your infamous Bat Bogey Hex." He's smiling, but his voice carries a hint of condescension.

"The Bat Bogey Hex can blow me," I snap. "You mess with me and I'll have slugs crawling out of every one of your orifices for weeks to come."

"I'd pay good money to see that," Malfoy says. He's grinning like the Cheshire Cat, but Theo's eyes have slightly narrowed as they stare into mine, and I can see that he believes me.

"I just got back from the infirmary and I'd rather stay clear of hexes, if it's all the same to you," he says carefully.

"She hexed Zacharias Smith right in McGonagall's face," Malfoy supplies. "If she loses her temper, man, you're totaled."

"Totally?" Theo's voice is light, but he's still eyeing me carefully.

"Totally," Malfoy confirms.

"Oh, do shut up," I say tiredly, wishing I could leave but knowing that will automatically earn me another detention. There's still more than an hour left before this torture ends.

I stand and walk over to the window, turning my back on the Slytherins even though it probably isn't wise. I fold my arms and stare out to the empty grounds, as the moon floats impassively above the clouds. It hasn't stopped raining.

It isn't long before I hear footsteps approaching me. Theo's taller than even Malfoy, practically towering over me as he moves to stand beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us.

"Come on, Weasley," he says quietly. "We've always gotten along, haven't we?"

Yeah. When no one else is around. _Tosser._

I realize that there's no point in acting all butthurt because he's not the person I'd hoped he'd be. Have you noticed how showing someone that you're angry or disappointed requires a certain level of intimacy? Well we don't have that, so I keep my voice light. "Don't worry about it."

"So we're good?" he asks.

"I guess?"

He gives me a smile that under normal circumstances I would find charming. "We still have an hour before we get to go," he says conversationally. "Any ideas on how we can pass the time?"

I turn to look at him, but don't detect any sleaziness in his gaze or in his tone.

"Not really," I say at last. "How about you?"

"Well…" He grins. "There is one thing. But I don't know if we can get Draco to cooperate, and we sort of need him for this."

"What is it?" Malfoy calls out from his seat. I look at him past Theo's shoulder, and our eyes connect.

Theo turns to look at his housemate. "You won't like it."

 **OOO**

We sit in a circle on the floor. The stone feels cool through the thin fabric of my skirt and tights. I consider casting a heating charm, but am not really interested in drawing more attention to myself than necessary by waving my wand at my bum.

Why am I doing this? Maybe to prove that I'm not afraid. Or to prove that I don't care. About Theo's duplicity, about Malfoy's mind games, about any of this.

The Slytherins' motives are also unclear to me. Theo seems fickle enough to do this for actual fun, and perhaps he's also curious. And Malfoy? He might be wanting to get back at me somehow.

"Truth or dare," the blond in question mutters, crisscrossing his long legs underneath him. "What are we, ten?"

"Come now, darling," Theo says, eliciting an eye roll from Malfoy. "Admit it, you're dying to know the dirty little secrets of our young Miss Weasley."

Malfoy gives me a speculative glance at this, and I expect him to take another shot at my supposed goodness and general lack of appeal. Surprisingly he says nothing.

I, in turn, opt for not contradicting Theo, although my dirtiest secret isn't really a secret—everyone with a pulse (and, well, the ghosts too) knows about my penchant for writing in evil diaries during first year, and there's nothing I intend to add on that score.

I watch as Theo places his wand in the center of our imperfect circle and gives it a spin.

"Truth or dare?" His wand comes to a halt, its tip pointing squarely at me. Of course.

"Truth," I say at once—this bloke made his best mate vomit frogs, so you won't see me volunteering for his dares any time soon; Gryffindors are courageous, not _stupid._

Theo smiles predatorily at me, but it is Malfoy he speaks to in a stage whisper. _"Do we know why she got detention?"_

"Snape hates her," Malfoy replies in bored tones.

"Ah. In that case..." Turning towards me, the Slytherin surprises me with a rather innocent question. "What's your middle name?"

"Molly."

" _Molly?"_ Malfoy repeats, sounding incredulous.

"Molly," I confirm. "It's a family name."

"It's a fat girl's name," Malfoy informs me dispassionately.

I bristle, but am aware that he's only trying to provoke me. Once more I display a coolness I do not feel. "Oh. Thank you?"

"You're welcome," he gives me another mocking bow, like that first time in detention.

 _Smug bastard._

"But I'm not fat," I bite out, plastering a pleasant smile on my face.

He lets his eyes run down my frame, and I do my best not to squirm.

"Well, not at present..."

"Children, enough," Theo scolds gently before I can retort. He hands me his wand. "Your turn to spin, love."

Trying to keep my annoyance off my face, I spin the wand and watch with some satisfaction as it points towards the blond.

"Truth or dare?" I demand.

Draco Malfoy meets my gaze squarely. "Truth."

"Why…" I hesitate, wondering if this will be once again going too far. I realize then that I'm uncertain of where the line lies, but am willing to toe it anyway. "Why did you get a term's worth of detention?"

"Two girls were found drunk and semi-nude in my room after a small gathering," he replies immediately, without any sort of hesitation. His pale eyes are on mine, and I can almost feel their weight. "They had alcohol intoxication and required medical care."

"That's how we got caught," Theo interjects. "It's too bad those slags couldn't hold their drink."

"No, it's too bad they were in there to begin with." Malfoy looks at his housemate coolly, his pale face impassive. "I still don't know what their names were, and I doubt if you do. Mostly I wonder if you'd been as indiscriminate with the guest list if it had been _your_ room."

"I said I was sorry, mate. Snape practically skewered me as well, didn't he?" Theo protests. "Though I guess we're both lucky we didn't get thrown out."

Malfoy seems bored with this explanation, but he does not challenge it.

My eyes are darting from one boy to the other. This is so weird. I don't know what I expected hanging out with two Slytherins would be like, but this bickering and back-stabbing is so stereotypical that it's vastly amusing. To my surprise, the tension in the room dissipates as quickly as it appeared when Malfoy reaches over to spin Theo's wand.

"Wait," I say suddenly, without necessarily deciding to. "I have one more question."

"What? No. Wait your next turn." Theo actually wags a long finger in my face.

But Malfoy's looking back at me. His face remains devoid of expression, but his eyes—something about his eyes seems almost...curious?

"Go ahead," he says finally, giving me a slight nod.

"Did you gangbang?" I blurt out, my eyes still locked with his. "Those girls, did you gangbang them?"

Both Malfoy's and Theo's eyebrows shoot up.

"Are you crazy, Weasley?" For once he actually sounds irritated. "I didn't touch those girls. I have my standards, and they don't include unconscious seventh years, even when they're _not_ covered in vomit."

"They undressed themselves!" Theo says quickly. "I can't believe that rumor's still going around."

"Where are the girls?" I continue. "Don't they get detention too?"

"That's two more questions!" Theo protests.

"Their parents transferred them out," Malfoy replies, ignoring him.

"They went back to Skankland," Theo mutters.

The blond Slytherin smirks. "Otherwise known as Beauxbatons."

I snort, thinking of Fleur.

"May we proceed?" Theo says to me, and I give a sarcastic wave of acquiescence.

Malfoy spins, and the wand points to his housemate. "Dare," he says resolutely, even before Malfoy asks.

"Regale Weasley with your best pick-up line."

Theo looks thoughtful, then languidly turns in my direction, his green eyes narrowed slightly as he beholds me in a way that makes me want to squirm. _"Are you a Dementor?"_ he inquires in a husky whisper. _"Cause you're sending chills down my spine..."_

"Wow…" is all I can manage, as Malfoy's shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Theo tips an imaginary hat before spinning the wand once more, and this time it points to me.

"Truth or dare, gorgeous?"

"It's _Ginny_ , gorgeous," I counter lightly. "And I pick...dare." Yeah, I know what I said before about his dares. Look, I'm not exactly known for thinking things through.

"Alright, then, Ginny." Theo displays a row of even, white teeth in a feral sort of grin. "Exchange an item of clothing with Draco."

My eyes dart to the fair-haired Slytherin. He raises a pale eyebrow, an unspoken _"I'm up for it if you are"_ hanging in the air between us. If anything, this is what finally convinces me that Draco Malfoy's not a gangbanger.

I give an almost imperceptible nod. Soon my eyes are flicking all over him, trying to choose an article of clothing that I would actually be willing to take off myself.

Once again I note the broadness of his shoulders, the perfectly drawn proportions of his limbs and his torso, his neck, his golden head. That such a malicious toad should be so symmetrical and pleasing to the eye doesn't seem fair somehow.

"I think your shirt and jumper would be too small on me," he's murmuring in that deep velvety voice of his, and following the line of his gaze, I find myself folding my arms across my chest self consciously.

That blasted smirk again.

"How about our ties?" I offer, hoping to distract from what feels like a rapidly developing blush. I have no idea why my body responds to Malfoy the way it does, but my face is tingling and my forearms have broken into goosebumps. Fortunately, nobody seems to have noticed.

"Oooh, Draco in red and gold! How lovely." Theo nearly cackles.

" _Ha, ha,"_ his friend mutters dryly, preoccupied with loosening the knot in his green and silver striped tie with his long fingers. _Piano player's fingers,_ my mum would say.

 _I can't believe this is really happening to me,_ I think, bewildered. I slip my own tie over my braided hair and toss it over to the Slytherin, accepting his in turn.

I watch as Draco Malfoy knots my scarlet and gold tie around his neck. Part of me expects him to keel over or break out in hives, but he seems to be comfortable with this development.

Ye gods, is this the same world I usually live in?

All at once the light echo of footsteps along the corridor is heard, and everyone's head swivels in the direction of the door as it hesitantly creaks open.

"Hello, boys," a pretty voice calls out cheerfully, as the brown-haired Slytherin known as Daphne Greengrass enters the room. "I brought you some cookies from dinner."

She hesitates only for a moment, taking in the scene with obvious surprise. After a heartbeat she saunters up to her housemates, carefully ignoring me.

"Hullo, Daph." Theo pats the space next to him on the floor. "Care to join us for an exciting game of truth or dare with the lovely Ginny?"

"You guys are playing with the Weasley girl?" Daphne says, as if said Weasley girl weren't sitting right in front of her. She wrinkles her cute button nose with distaste, and I imagine my fist connecting with it.

"Daphne dear," Malfoy says, before I can open my mouth. "Pansy isn't here so you needn't be such a cow."

I shoot him a surprised look, and see that he seems vaguely amused.

"Now have a seat and spin the wand, will you?"

"—Spin the wand, girl... _Bow chicka wow wow!"_ Theo sings.

The Slytherin girl pouts at Malfoy's rebuke. She does as she is told, however, and to my dismay the wand points at me this time.

"Truth."

Daphne looks at me directly for the first time since arriving, and I meet her gaze squarely, keeping my face carefully devoid of expression.

"What happened between you and Potter?" she asks.

"Nothing," I reply, hoping I don't sound as relieved as I feel—thank Merlin that silly bint went for the obvious question, and not something that might actually embarrass me. "I fancied him when I was a kid, and then I stopped."

"But did you shag him?" Daphne demands. "Did you snog him, at least?"

"No, and no." I shrug, and I'm completely aware of Malfoy's eyes on me. "We never dated."

"But he fancies you," the Slytherin girl presses.

"I don't know about that…" I'll admit I've had my suspicions in the past, but I'd rather Bat Bogey Hex myself before I give some Slytherin groupie a soundbite that could snowball into outrageous gossip.

"That's it? How boring, Weasley," Theo interjects, sounding almost sad. I note the subtle switch from my given name back to "Weasley" now that a Slytherin girl is here. "I was hoping for juicy, scandalous details, a sordid love triangle with Granger or... _something_." Theo makes a vague hand gesture.

"I hardly think _sordid_ is a word that goes with Harry," I say flatly.

Through all of this I'm certain of Draco Malfoy's steady gaze on me, and I'm unexpectedly pleased with the fact that I've held his full attention.

I'm about to risk a glance back at him, when I notice that Daphne Greengrass is staring intently at me.

All at once this game has stopped being fun and has become exponentially more dangerous. It doesn't sit well with me to reveal personal details to the likes of a Pansy Parkinson lackey, nor would I submit myself to the whim of such a person's dares.

"I'm out," I say suddenly and with finality, but then soften it with the excuse of needing to complete my Potions essay. Which, I mean, I do.

I sit at the back of the room, doodling on my parchment and willing the time to pass. Every so often I can hear Daphne's giggling or an exclamation from Theo.

At one point I see the Slytherin girl kneeling behind Malfoy, massaging the back of his neck and whether it's a dare or not, I don't know. And I can't say that I care at all.

Time drags on, but finally the clock strikes ten o'clock.

I leave quickly, not sparing my companions a glance after Filch grudgingly announces that we're free.

It isn't until I leave the Detention Chamber that I realize I still have Draco Malfoy's green and silver tie around my neck.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** "It's a fat girl's name" and "If I lose my temper, man, you're totaled/Totally?" are quotes from The Breakfast Club. Gotta rack up those bonus points! :D


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